


What Can a Ravenclaw Learn from a Spider-Man?

by ForASecondThereWedWon



Series: Spidey-shots, Spidey-shots, Am I done yet? No, I'm not [9]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, F/M, MJ is a Hogwarts student, Peter is still Spider-Man, Peter visits Hogwarts!, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt, magic?, mention of various Avengers plus a few Hogwarts faves, no reference to the Snap, potato/potahto as far as MJ is concerned, radioactive spider bite?, the Avengers exist etc. etc.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-19 18:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19362412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForASecondThereWedWon/pseuds/ForASecondThereWedWon
Summary: Michelle doesn't exactly know what a "Spider-Man" is, but from the wild footage she's seen of him on her grandmother's television, she does know he's not your average Muggle. Keen to learn more, she extends an invitation for Spider-Man to be the first speaker in Hogwarts' new guest lecturer series (a program of her own invention).Her questions will be snappy. Her attitude, professional. Her crush when Spider-Man shows up without the mask? Instantaneous.





	What Can a Ravenclaw Learn from a Spider-Man?

**Author's Note:**

> Created for Day 3 of Spideychelle Week 2019!
> 
> Today's prompt: Hogwarts/Harry Potter AU

Michelle wondered if Hermione Granger would’ve done it. Hermione was an idol of hers, even though she’d been a Gryffindor while at Hogwarts. Well, no one was perfect. Michelle admired Hermione when she made purposeful shortcuts that took her through the trophy room (an excuse to ritualistically pick out each of the academic plaques that bore Hermione’s name as she crossed the floor), when she saw her picture in the _Prophet_ for another career achievement, and, of course, when she read one of Hermione’s fastidiously researched books.

Yes, the woman Michelle strove to one day call a peer was an impressive, maybe unparalleled, intellectual, but as far as she knew, the idea of guest lecturers at Hogwarts had never occurred to Hermione.

Everyone knew Ravenclaws asked a lot of questions―Michelle also made a lot of suggestions. This one had landed, after her Head of House presented it to the Headmaster and the Headmaster said something like, “Can’t see why not!” (The leadership style had reverted to a Dumbledore-esque whimsy, from the biographical sketches Michelle had read of the man, after the sterner yet decidedly more upfront governance of Headmaster McGonagall.)

Indeed, they’d liked the idea, but there was still a certain air of ‘upon your head be it’ about the whole thing, which meant that Michelle was doing extra work to take on primary organization of the project, and a good share of the responsibility for its success or failure. Perhaps it would’ve been more logical to make her first selection of guest lecturers from within the wizarding community… Maybe there was a little of Hermione Granger’s Gryffindor-ishness in Michelle after all.

She wouldn’t say the word out loud beforehand and, when he arrived, she wouldn’t say it to his face, but Michelle thought of her invitee as ‘The Risk.’ His behaviour would be unpredictable, from the very nature of his biology. It wasn’t because he was a Muggle (being half-blood herself, Michelle had spent a significant amount of her childhood in the Muggle world)―although, actually, she wasn’t quite sure that he _was_ a Muggle. The Wizarding world was full of labels, distinctions, and classifications, including those that were out of date and even disgustingly prejudiced, but Muggles were less precise. There was a name for what he was, a sort of childishly worshipful term for this risky guest and others like him, and that name was ‘superhero.’

Michelle was keen to observe any ‘super’ qualities, in the interest of improved quantification and qualification of extraordinary and exceptional traits both evolved and endowed, to be catalogued and studied hereafter. Oh, she didn’t mean to treat The Risk as a test subject, but questions had to be asked. The pursuit of knowledge demanded it. While on summer holiday, she’d passed a week with her Muggle grandmother and had seen footage of him in action.

Not usually one to vegetate in front of a television, Michelle’s fixation on the screen had, of course, been quickly misunderstood by her grandmother, who’d implied in all sorts of embarrassing language that the real object of fascination for her sixteen-year-old granddaughter must be the man’s physique. Ridiculous. She was a scholar, for Merlin’s sake! It was the death-defying leap from a high building, followed by a mid-air catch using some kind of rope (he seemed to create it himself, almost from nowhere―she was very interested in the properties of _that_ as well) that had her heart pounding like a galloping Hippogriff.

Of course, it hadn’t aided her argument when her grandmother had caught her watching another clip the following evening. For the record, Michelle had not _sighed_ when ‘Spider-Man’ was shown from behind, she’d yawned. It was bloody summer and the days were longer and she’d been out in the sun and she was _tired_.

And it was nonsense to suppose that she’d devised the guest lecturer series solely for the purpose of meeting Spider-Man. Nonsense.

Michelle hadn’t been the one to get in contact, not directly. It turned out that the Headmaster and Spider-Man had a mutual wizard friend, so it was all much easier than she’d thought it would be to arrange things with this superhuman New Yorker with the spectacular arse, ahem, _arsenal_ of abilities. Magical and Muggle cooperation did wonders to make the world smaller in the most useful and unexpected ways.

Apparently, this other wizard, Dr. Stephen Strange, had arranged a portal (portal? Was this in any way similar to either Apparition or Portkey?) to transport Spider-Man from New York to Hogsmeade. Security measures being as they always had been―if not a little tighter since the infamous Battle of Hogwarts, 21 years back―Michelle’s guest lecturer could not be deposited directly onto school grounds. Actually, this was only an assumption, and she hated those. Perhaps when the man was making his return journey, she might have an opportunity to speak to Dr. Strange and initiate an understanding of the workings of portals and how their magic interacted with such spells as guarded the school, specifically whether or not they were able to permeate the wards, if this disruption was temporary, if it would leave any lasting trace or adverse effects… She’d start a list.

The opportunity to interrogate (Michelle had been told she didn’t question, she _interrogated_ , and she was perfectly fine with the upgrade) the wizard on Spider-Man’s coming had passed, as the guest had arrived that morning while she was grinding her teeth in Arithmancy, wishing she could’ve been down in the village instead. Filch had been sent to escort him (the Headmaster having adjusted the protective spells to allow Spider-Man’s passage onto the grounds), really a dreadful alternative―if it wasn’t too self-important of her to note. Now Michelle just had to collect him.

She flew down empty corridors and hiked up the hem of her robe to take stairs three at a time with her long legs. Students weren’t often seen running inside Hogwarts unless it was to reach a bad-tempered professor’s class on time, and this general rule could stand, given that Michelle wasn’t seen. She only slowed as she cut across the trophy room, paying her voiceless respects to the accomplishments of Hermione Granger. The version of her idol that Michelle carried around in her head was full of encouragement.

Composing herself, Michelle straightened her tie before she made the final turn towards the Headmaster’s office, where she was to find her lecturer. She would be professional, she coached herself. She would pace her questions so as not to confuse or overwhelm him. There would be time to find out everything she wanted to know (plenty of time, if they developed a rapport―as she hoped―and entered into an ongoing communication that extended beyond this visit), so it was essential that Michelle contain her giddiness. With a fortifying exhale, she rounded the corner.

There was someone waiting for her in front of the gargoyle that concealed the office’s entrance. It wasn’t Spider-Man. It wasn’t any kind of man.

“Hey,” said a boy about her age. He waved the hand not clutching the strap of a battered rucksack.

Michelle approached him with all the composure of a seventh-year and a Ravenclaw (she was both). It was murder not to immediately ask questions.

“I’m Peter Parker,” he offered, along with his hand to shake, when she halted in front of him.

He had round eyes the colour of the new peat they used during transplantings in the greenhouse. Herbology was one of Michelle’s favourite classes―filling her notebook with plant sketches, hearing the soft tunneling of her classmates’ gloved hands in the dirt, observing change and growth each time she entered the greenhouse. Maybe that was the reason for the comfortable feeling that settled into her as she stared back at him, into those earthy eyes.

“Michelle Jones. MJ,” she said. She couldn’t say where the nickname had come from; she’d never asked anyone to call her that before.

They shook hands and it was unlike any handshake―any _touch_ , for that matter―Michelle had ever experienced. Peter didn’t do the regular reflexive squeeze, no, it was more like he learned her hand and then adapted for optimal contact. Their palms moulded together like the structural soundness of their fit was establishing a critical foundation. His fingers wrapped around her hand with an easy security that assured Michelle they would neither hurt her nor struggle to hang on and pull her to safety should the entire castle collapse around them at that very moment. The motion of his thumb interlocking with hers nearly raised goosebumps; its slide across her skin was that tender yet assertive. This hand was a sophisticated instrument and she knew the other identity of the boy it belonged to before he confirmed it for her.

“Or, uh, Spider-Man,” he added sheepishly. “You can call me that too.”

Michelle was still coming to terms with the handshake.

“You’re not what I was expecting,” she explained after a delay in releasing his hand. That hold. She could feel it still, along with the hundred new questions it had seemed to imprint directly into her skin.

“Yeah, I was gonna wear the suit ‘cause, you know, back home nobody knows that I’m him and he’s me. Everywhere, really,” the boy rambled. “Even some people in space know Spider-Man now. But Dr. Strange said this place―sorry, _Hogwarts_ ―is, like, crazy secure―Mr. Stark is gonna freak when I tell him, he loves that stuff―so it shouldn’t really be a problem to come as, well, myself.”

Michelle was smiling broadly by the time Peter paused to take a breath. He was incapable of shutting up. He was perfect. Perfect to question, _obviously_. She wouldn’t have to pace herself too much after all.

“It’s _not_ a problem, right?” he checked, expression suddenly nervous. Peter’s face was like his hands, performing an emotion or action completely. Except Michelle wasn’t about to reach out and hold his face just to feel the little dents above his eyebrows when they lifted.

“It’s not a problem,” she assured him, though that was really the Headmaster’s role.

“Ok, great, I was just kinda worried because you guys seem really into uniforms here. Makes me feel underdressed, but maybe that’s just my aunt May talking.”

As Peter shrugged, Michelle glanced rapidly down the length of his body, assessing his outfit. A t-shirt under a button-up shirt, jeans, and trainers.

“You look good to me,” she said.

Their eyes met and Peter’s mouth opened, but that was as far as he got in terms of a response for several long seconds.

“Uh, what’s the blue for?” he asked, pointing at the stripes of her tie.

“Ravenclaw. It’s my House.”

Peter squinted and Michelle sensed that he was trying to recall a piece of information. The expression was intimately familiar to her.

“I got some of the basics,” he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the Headmaster’s office. “Ravenclaw’s the one for really smart people, right? More or less?”

Michelle smiled at him again. She didn’t need the wisdom of her House’s founder to know that she and Peter Parker were going to get along.

* * *

Having Spider-Man in her charge―and he was Spider-Man now, appearing in uniform as they moved about the school and grounds―wasn’t supposed to mean getting an entire day off from classes, but that was how things had turned out.

After an endearingly self-deprecating introduction to Michelle’s Defence Against the Dark Arts class, Spider-Man had demonstrated battle tactics, adaptability, how to work with surroundings, and other skills that were useful whether or not one carried a wand. There had been a positive epidemic of hand-cramping amongst her fellow Ravenclaws, everyone struggling to record Spider-Man’s nonchalantly delivered details of violent encounters of varying success. The Gryffindors composing the other half of the attendance had effectively lost their minds with excitement as they watched Spider-Man shoot webbing from his wrists and climb the walls; a few Lions reluctantly left for the hospital wing after failing to execute one of the flips their guest did with such ease.

As Michelle exited the classroom with Peter at the end of the period, they were met with a small swarm of first-year emissaries, dispatched by professors to whom tales of Spider-Man’s abilities had already spread. Everyone wanted a visit from the guest lecturer. Normally, Michelle would’ve mentally hexed those bloody loud-mouthed Gryffindors for making her miss class to continue escorting Peter, but she was enjoying his company. She was even beginning to admit to herself that the boy’s carefree smile contributed as much to her enjoyment as his thorough answers to each of her questions.

Spider-Man was given the floor in a fifth-year Potions class, where the eyes of young Slytherins practically gleamed as they attempted to replicate Peter’s proprietary web fluid using the offerings of the ingredients cupboard. He won over a crowd of second-year Hufflepuffs in Care of Magical Creatures as he explained how his powers had originated from the bite of a radioactive spider; the little Badgers were very sweet, very sympathetic.

In fact, there hadn’t been a single negative reaction to Michelle’s lecturer, apart from a few envious looks that she’d observed, studying each audience as Peter addressed them. His reputation as an enthusiastic and engaging speaker meant more invitations to lecture than they were able to commit to that day. It would have to continue tomorrow. Apparently, a discussion on Muggle-superhero relations would fit well into the fourth-year Muggle Studies curriculum, so that class was going to be their first engagement the following day.

Michelle was quizzed throughout dinner, Ravenclaws skidding up to her along the benches at their House’s table in the Great Hall like Muggle baseball players sliding to home plate. Most nights, she knew herself to be a worthy conversational companion―the kind of thinker who could only stew in her own thoughts and theories for so long before needing someone to bandy ideas about with. Tonight, she hardly noticed the curious crowd around her. What she did notice was Peter (sans costume) sitting next to Professor Longbottom. Her Housemates might’ve perceived her distraction (as well as its focus) if they weren’t largely the sort to pay more attention to what was going on in their heads than in front of their eyes.

Peter and Professor Longbottom broke into giddy laughter and Michelle heard herself sigh (audibly!), which roused her from her mealtime fixation. With a long drink of water, she swiveled in her seat to face a little blond Scamander.

“Sorry,” she offered, spying the swing of the child’s bare feet beneath the table, “what did you ask?”

After dinner, Michelle felt as flighty as the symbol of her House, practically bobbing her head like a bird as she contended with the departing hoard of students in an effort to spot her Peter. Her lecturer. Peter. Suffering Helena, if the Herbology professor had gotten started on an impromptu plant discourse, Michelle might not see Peter again for the rest of his stay! (She adored Professor Longbottom, truly, but she felt the strain of separation from her guest as the minutes passed. It must simply have been a kind of withdrawal from newly introduced stimuli; she wasn’t going to concentrate on the reasoning at the moment.)

“Oh man,” said a voice from behind her. “I’ve done the big group dinner thing before, but this was insane. Have you ever had shawarma?”

Michelle spun around and nearly sagged in relief.

“No,” she told him with a smile and listened as he described it to her.

Peter barely looked up from the hands he was gesturing with, but he negotiated their way out of the Hall more smoothly than she’d ever been able to through so many people, even on her brightest, most bushytailed mornings.

“Whoa, wait a sec,” Peter requested as the staircase they’d mounted lurched into motion. “I’m lost.”

“I thought you were from New York, one of the busiest cities in the world,” Michelle teased, refraining from citing statistics about population, area, and traffic congestion. “Can’t tell your way around one building?”

“Hey, where I’m from, the streets don’t change! East 54th doesn’t suddenly come out on Orchard Street.” He glanced at her with playfully narrowed eyes. “And I doubt you had this place all figured out your first day here.”

She only smiled, unwilling to verbally own up to her eleven-year-old self’s directional failings. Peter leaned back against the bannister and shook his head at her.

“I know that look’s supposed to come off clever and mysterious, but if you think I’m gonna buy it… you’re right.”

He laughed at himself and Michelle joined in as their staircase jerked to a stop.

“Someone told you where you’ll be sleeping for the duration of your visit?” she checked, not moving yet.

Steps echoed faintly, several floors above, as other students made their way to common rooms or began Prefect patrol.

“Yeah, they said I’d be in the Ravenclaw dorms with you. N-not _with_ you,” Peter fumbled, cheeks turning slightly pink. “Near you. Since you’re my… guide?”

“Yes.”

“Friend?”

She smiled. They _had_ effectively spent the entire day together. It was an impressive thing that she could say she’d spent a day with Spider-Man, though what secretly thrilled her was that she’d spent a day with Peter Parker.

“Sure. And that’s right. A room’s been made up for you.”

“When you say ‘made up,’ you mean…”

“Created. Formed by magic. An extension of the existing dormitory.”

“Ohmygodthat’ssocool,” he breathed all at once.

Michelle stared too long at the wonder on his face, then startled herself out of it, passing him on the steps to reach the landing first.

“Let’s go,” she suggested, not looking at Peter. “I’ll show you how to get to Ravenclaw Tower from here.”

“That’s… that’s really nice of you,” he said, bounding up the steps and touching her arm before she could keep walking. “But if we go there right now, there’s probably going to be a bunch of people waiting up to ask me questions, right?”

“That’s a given. You fascinate… us.” That last word had been difficult to force out, wanting to manifest as something a bit more personal.

Peter huffed a laugh to himself, glancing at his shoes.

“I’m still kind of waiting for everybody to realize I’m not really that interesting.”

“What are you talking about?” Michelle tipped her head in confusion. “You’re incredible! What you can do―”

“―Isn’t anything that anybody here couldn’t do if they tried,” he said with a sad smile that encouraged her to agree (she wouldn’t). “Somebody _made_ me a room out of thin air!”

“No. You’re here because―”

“I get it. I know people know about the Avengers, Spider-Man… I’m not ungrateful! The opposite! Being here is one of the coolest things that’s ever happened to me, I’m just not sure, now that they picked me, that I live up to the, uh, hype.”

Michelle marched ahead, frustrated and mixed-up and searching her mind for solutions. She rounded on Peter abruptly, not ten paces later.

“ _I_ picked you,” she said, meeting his wide eyes.

“What?”

“ _I_ picked you. _I_ saw you on television. _I_ watched everything I could find. _I_ developed and implemented the guest lecturer program so that I could get you here, so that I could…” Her mouth had completely run away with her, which never happened unless what she had to say was broken up by frequent question marks while her arm grew weary from being held aloft in class. “So that _we_ could hear you speak and have the opportunity to learn. Now, you don’t know me well, but you should bloody well know I wouldn’t waste my time when it comes to acquiring knowledge.”

She was breathing hard, a fool.

“I care a lot about school too,” he said quietly. Her eyes darted to his. “Except what you’ve done makes me look _so_ lazy. I would never have thought of anything like this.”

“Yes, well, I’ve been watching you all day and I think you’d probably have been sorted Gryffindor.”

“Will that be held against me?” Peter smiled.

“I’m certainly trying my best not to.”

They laughed. Michelle felt deeply thankful that he’d chosen to attribute the passion of her speech to her enthusiasm for knowledge. It had been atypically brash of her to lay things (feelings) on the line like that.

“I can show you something, if you’d like. Use up a little time in the hopes of fewer of my Housemates in the common room when we get there.”

“That sounds great,” he said with an easy smile, already following Michelle as she chose a route that didn’t lead to the dormitory. “Are we allowed to be wandering around though?”

“Wandering,” she scoffed, tossing Peter a wry look over her shoulder. “Please. I don’t wander, and I don’t get caught.”

Michelle led him higher and higher, sometimes glancing back because his footsteps were so silent that she thought she may have left him behind. He was always there, giving her a questioning look, not expecting her to doubt that he was right on her heels, moving like they were one person, one unit, in the darkness.

The Astronomy Tower―her goal―was mythic, even in a place as storied as Hogwarts. It had borne witness to the Dark Mark and the death of Albus Dumbledore, but as Astronomy class continued to be held there (it was still the highest tower and therefore offered the best vantage for telescopes), the spot’s solemnity had mellowed with time. Most rumours swapped about the Tower these days involved strange and fantastic things past students had glimpsed in the night sky. Michelle’s favourite modern legend was about Harry Potter himself, and how he’d smuggled an illegal dragon to freedom.

Not one of those tales had been her inspiration for bringing Peter here.

He was smiling, slipping out of Michelle’s shadow to stride to the railing at her side and peer into the night beyond. She was watching him more than it as she wove her hair into a quick braid; it was windy here, a little exposed.

“Whoa,” Peter breathed as he scanned the view.

Michelle grinned in satisfaction. It gave her great pleasure to teach someone something new, but the opportunity to _show_ someone something new was exceedingly rare. Every nook she found, every passage, every thrilling belvedere had been discovered first by a Gryffindor. That was inevitable, with their questing natures. She didn’t enjoy those places any less, but she’d never felt ownership (even temporary) of them as a result. Standing here with Peter, in contrast, was an act of ushering him into her world and offering to share it, all at once.

“I know you saw some of the grounds when you came up to the castle, and when we dropped in on the Care of Magical Creatures class, but…”

“Not like this.”

“Not like this,” Michelle agreed.

She gave him another minute to just look, remembering what he’d told her classmates today about his enhanced senses and wondering how far Peter could see as the sky darkened from the hazy blue-grey of evening.

“I thought it might… remind you of New York. In a way,” she offered awkwardly.

Peter leaned far over the edge, making her extremely anxious.

“I see what you mean. We’re really high up.”

“Terrific. Why don’t you step back a little?” Michelle replied, tense. She wasn’t afraid of heights, but she wasn’t about to put herself in danger unnecessarily either.

He turned with a chuckle that threw his shoulders forward; again, Peter’s whole body participated in enacting an emotion. It caught her off guard, how his delight riled giddiness in her.

“Even if I fell, I’d catch myself,” he assured her, though he did move in her direction towards the middle of the Tower. “You know that, you’ve seen me on TV!”

“I saw _Spider-Man_ on TV,” she corrected with a grin.

“And this is why I can leave knowing I didn’t blow my cover!” Peter joked. “Everybody’s already forgotten me and him are the same guy!”

Michelle rolled her eyes and tentatively crossed to the railing, propping her elbows there. He joined her. He was close enough that her heart sent up an alarm, doing a secret knock on her ribcage.

“I’m not so sure,” she said. “You did come to dinner as yourself in front of the entire population of Hogwarts.”

“Maybe,” Peter shrugged, “but you were the only one watching.”

They glanced sideways at each other at the same moment and Michelle felt her cheeks go red. She spent half a second trying to internally convince herself it was the wind’s nip. No good.

“Uh, have you ever been? To New York?”

Peter blurted it all out, ruffling his hair with a nervous hand. Why was he nervous? Was it _her_ making him nervous? He’d already made it clear that it couldn’t be their distance from the ground.

“I haven’t,” she looked at him quickly, throwing out a fleeting closed-lipped smile.

“You should go sometime. If you’re not busy doing something amazing here.”

“It would definitely be a change of scenery.” Michelle swept her hand at the landscape before them, the sky riddled with stars.

“For sure. I mean, you gotta see the Empire State Building. Central Park, Radio City―”

“The Avengers?”

He laughed.

“Come on,” she insisted. “I’m sure superheroes are a tourist attraction. Your city should be offering each of you a royalty.”

“You’re right. I shouldn’t laugh,” Peter said, suddenly and unusually (for what she’d seen of him) serious. His body twisted towards her, though he kept staring at the far off treeline. “You could definitely come over and meet the Avengers. I think you and Dr. Strange would have a lot to discuss. And Mr. Stark? Boy, he loves getting to talk about his work―sometimes it’s more like bragging―so I bet you could ask as many questions as you wanted.”

“I was actually thinking about you.”

Now he looked at her, surprised.

“Going to see you,” Michelle went on, amazed at herself. “Just you.”

“But you haven’t even met…” Peter was obviously baffled. “When you _see_ what they can―”

“You really think I didn’t see the others on television?” she asked, sarcasm softened from its regular strength. “I’m sorry to inform you, but there isn’t an all-Spider-Man channel. At least, not that I know of.”

“You saw Thor? And Falcon, with the wings? Wan― I mean, the Scarlet Witch? _Iron Man_?”

“I don’t know what else to tell you, Peter.” It felt good, saying his name. “You’re my favourite Avenger.”

“Then you’re my favourite Ravenclaw,” he responded firmly, gripping the rail. She couldn’t laugh―he was too earnest. “My favourite witch,” Peter professed. “Including Wanda. Shit, forget I said her name.”

Michelle had to laugh that time, but he frowned in return.

“You don’t know enough witches to say that,” she said, straightening up. “I haven’t even told you about Hermione Granger.”

“Well, you don’t know enough Avengers,” he cut in, bungling her chance to educate him.

“I don’t need to,” Michelle shot back, taking a step towards him whilst properly shocked to hear herself arguing _against_ acquiring knowledge.

“Neither do I!”

Peter kissed her before she could point out the weakness of his regressing argument. The wind whipped up and snatched at her braid, but Peter grasped it and trapped it between his palm and her neck, his thumb resting lightly on her throat.

She hadn’t felt like this since her wand had chosen her at Ollivander’s. There was a satisfaction to scoring high on exams or refining a transfiguration, but those were a certain type of accomplishment. In fact, almost _all_ of her accomplishments were that same type. Michelle reflected, as she kissed him back, that she might’ve been due for a broadening of horizons.

There was nothing precise about kissing Peter and letting him fold her body into his arms (she half-wished he could fold and fold and fold her, then stow her in his pocket so she could travel to New York against the thump of his heart), but it had as fair a claim to the title of ‘perfection’ as any other action she had performed.

He helped considerably, of course. Just another thing Peter did with a care and adeptness that truly made Michelle marvel. It felt as though he were holding her _exactly_ right―one hand between her shoulder blades, the other still pinning her braid. And his lips were equally thorough. The heat of her face, when she stepped away with a smile, held off the increasing coolness of the air.

Peter exhaled with humorous over-exaggeration.

“Be nice if all my fights ended like that,” he said, starry-eyed even without the reflection on the sky shining in his brown irises when he looked at her.

“Do they not? I assumed that was how you managed to apprehend so many criminals, drawing them out with that Siren call.”

They laughed, but it faded as they both realized Peter was playing with the end of her braid. Cautiously, Michelle shifted closer until they could rest the sides of their heads together, looking out. His arm was secure around her back.

“We weren’t really fighting,” she felt the need to clarify after a long, still moment.

“Debating?”

“Not quite. You’d have known if we were debating. I never would’ve let you cut me off.”

Peter chuckled.

“That’s one more thing I need to see while I’m here then.”

“Well, we can try to find room for it tomorrow,” Michelle offered, “in between your showing off.”

“I haven’t been showing off!”

She turned her head and gave him a dubious stare when Peter drew back.

“Ok, maybe a little,” he conceded, “but that’s why you asked me to come!”

Michelle saw fit to practice her technique of not responding when he was correct.

“If I’m going to be accused of showing off, then I’m going to have to actually do it so you can see the difference. For your records.”

This boy was full of shit. She grinned at him.

“And what is it you’ll be doing, Spider-Man?”

Peter glanced down the side of the Tower again, then slowly looked over at her. His face was all mischief.

“You’re not climbing the Astronomy Tower.”

“I’ll wait ‘til tomorrow if it makes you feel better. Do it in daylight.”

“There are plenty of towers at Hogwarts, why not begin with a shorter one?”

“MJ, I can handle it. We’ll start at the bottom,” Peter pointed, hand sliding to her waist, “and go up. Easier to set you down if you freak out.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Michelle hedged. “This is not a ‘we’ activity.”

“Sure it is. Don’t worry, I’ll get a good grip on you.”

She laughed anxiously.

“Absolutely not. You will be the main attraction and I will stand safely in the background, as we’ve done since you arrived.”

“Aw, you’re more of a risk-taker than that, I _know_ you are!”

“You won’t goad me into this,” Michelle warned him, though it wasn’t lost on her that she’d been thinking of him as the risk she’d taken all along, “I’m a Ravenclaw.”

“And I’m an Avenger,” Peter declared. “In the words of a guy I know back home, I can do this all day.”

“It’s night.”

“That’s a cheap out, MJ.”

She found him charming and rolled her eyes, leaning into his side as he welcomed her with a friendly expression.

“Just an observation.”

“Are we debating yet?” Peter wondered.

“Don’t change the subject.”

They stood there until they began to yawn, at which point they sat instead (Michelle pulled her wand from her pocket and cast a warming charm). She guided Peter’s gaze through the visible constellations while he enacted his flawless hand-holding magic. The night was so good that she never thought to speculate on whether Hermione Granger had ever had a night like this. Michelle didn’t guess and she didn’t compare. She’d brought Spider-Man to Hogwarts, and she’d snogged him.

She was her own idol.


End file.
